"We should do something," Yongguk pipes up, straightening at the notion. "You want to?"

"Do you want to?" You ask, looking over at him. He seems excited and is simply gearing for something, but you don't know what for, or why. 

"I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to," he says earnestly, raising his brows. "I don't want you to just go along with whatever I say just to be nice. Which is why I'm asking you."

You observe him for a bit, taking in his expectant gaze and the firm set of his jaw. Your opinion; he wants your opinion. And yet, you can't bring yourself to vocally state your input. Maybe you're being sympathetic, and maybe thats the last thing he wants from you. He probably just wants you to treat him normally, the way you had treated him before you knew about his sickness.

That's hard. That's going to be hard. But ... you can try.

"Depends where we're going," you reply honestly, squinting up at the sun as its rays heavily beat down on your back. It's getting hot. Yongguk feels the heat, as well, and he slides the hood off his head with a sweep of his hand. You notice that the blond in his hair is fading, and that his black roots are beginning to prevail. He sees you looking at him, and gives you a crooked little smile that makes your heart tighten at its transience. 

"Showing up, huh?" He asks you, pointing to his hair. You nod, and he takes out his wallet and starts flipping through the money tucked inside. After some contemplation, he slaps it closed and gets up authoritatively. "I know what we can do, then. We could go to a hair salon."

"What?" You ask, getting up anyway even though you don't exactly know what he's suggesting. He starts walking toward the direction of the city, and you stroll beside him, his shadow engulfing your own.

"It's coming out. The blond. I did this myself. So I guess I did a bad job, cause it didn't even last very long," he informs you. You start to cross the street, but he reaches a hand out to stop you. You focus on the touch of his palm on your arm as a car speeds by, concentrate on the feeling of having him so close to you, but then the potential danger passes, and he lets go. He looks left and right, guiding your way, making sure you won't ever get hurt. It makes you smile.

"So you're going to dye it blond again?" You assume. He shakes his head and tucks his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. 

"Depends. I've only ever had two colors before, you know. Blond. And Black." He meets your eyes, a tinge of sadness in the dilation of those brown pupils. "I mean. If I'm going to die. I might as well dye my hair a freaking rainbow."

You choke down the sentimental feelings that begin to rise and manage to conjure up a smile. "Well. Imagine. That would be something to see, wouldn't it?"

"I'd be li